


The Pigs, They Did Fly.

by FrisianWanderer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (but not how you expect), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Humor, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 04:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10608975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrisianWanderer/pseuds/FrisianWanderer
Summary: He reached up to adjust the vent, but Clarke pushed his hand away. "Excuse me. That's my air vent. I like it that way," she said, giving him a sweet smile.The guy raised his eyebrow, and his jaw flexed, silently asking her if she was being serious. Clarke kept her innocent look perfectly in place, because yes, she was being serious. If he wasn’t going to be considerate towards her, why would she treat him any kinder? He could kiss her ass.He huffed, the glare he sent her not shifting even a tiny bit, before sitting down again.-When two stubborn assholes meet on a plane, a passive aggressive war turns into politely insulting one another when they find each other again at a destination wedding. What a way for Clarke Griffin to meet Bellamy Blake, who turns out to be the brother-in-law-to-be of an old friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Nicole, who's an awesome person and beta! :D
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

Clarke Griffin never was fond of flying. She liked being in control, and there wasn’t a place she felt more out of control than in a plane. Every passenger’s life was completely dependent on the aircraft’s engines, the skills of the crew, and the weather. Clarke hated feeling so vulnerable and useless. She knew if something happened, there was nothing she could do to save herself and the people around her, and it always prevented her from relaxing or falling asleep during the flight. Flying was definitely an ordeal for the control-freak surgeon Clarke Griffin was.

Not to mention how _uncomfortable_ flying really was: the seats were painful, there was barely any leg room, and everyone was squashed together like sardines in a can. There was no fresh air to breath in (only air that smelled like the perfume of the stranger next to you), you weren’t allowed to bring your own drinks onto the plane (if you were thirsty you had to buy a beverage from the stewardess’ cart and you’d get ripped off), and if you were really unlucky you had to sit through a flight with a screaming baby next to you.

Right at that moment however, Clarke would’ve gladly dealt with all of that – even _numerous_ crying babies, if it meant she didn’t have to deal with the curly, dark-haired asshole, who was currently occupying the seat in front of her.

Just after take-off, the guy had reclined his seat until he was practically resting his head on Clarke’s chest. She politely asked him if he would please put his seat up, which he had, after making it obvious to Clarke what a hardship it was. He had only moved it up _one_ inch, so he was still leaning heavily against her knees. When she asked if he’d mind putting his seat up a few more inches, he’d snapped at her.

“Yes actually, I would, lady,” his reply had been. “This is only an hour and a half flight, and I really need to catch up on some sleep. Besides, you’re not that tall, so maybe you can just put your feet under your chair?”

“That’s not going to do anything!” she protested.

The guy had already turned around, not bothered enough by the situation to listen to her reply. Clarke’s blood was boiling with anger over the stranger’s rudeness and lack of empathy to her knees.

“Do you want to switch seats?” Maya Vie, one of her closest friends asked.  She was travelling with Clarke to the hometown of one of their best friends from college - Lincoln Evergreen. He was getting married that weekend, and had of course invited the both of them to the ceremony.

“No,” Clarke answered. “You’re taller than I am, so it’ll be even worse for you. Besides—“ she reached up to her air vent, turned it on and aimed it right at the guy’s face. “We need to beat fire with fire” she added in a whisper.

The stranger turned around, glaring, and Clarke almost got distracted by how handsome he was. His face was dotted with freckles, his jawline looked like something Michelangelo had sculpted, and his eyes looked like pools of melted chocolate.

He reached up to adjust the vent, but Clarke pushed his hand away. "Excuse me. That's _my_ air vent. I like it that way," she said, giving him a sweet smile.

The guy raised his eyebrow, and his jaw flexed, silently asking her if she was being serious. Clarke kept her innocent look perfectly in place, because _yes_ , she was being serious. If he wasn’t going to be considerate towards her, why would she treat him any kinder? He could kiss her ass.

He huffed, the glare he sent her not shifting even a tiny bit, before sitting down again.

Turns out the stranger was a stubborn dick as well. Clarke had figured that it would make him pull up his chair, because he could probably sleep better sitting straight than leaning forward, but he did no such thing. So, being the stubborn asshole _she_ was, Clarke reached up again to her air vent and turned it on full blast. Her knees were still being squashed by the guy’s seat after all.

Maya gave her a pleading look, but Clarke just shook her head. Her friend was a kind and sweet soul who absolutely hated conflict of any nature, but Clarke wasn’t backing down – not even for Maya. Her friend let out a heavy sigh, knowing it wasn’t worth the fight, and asked instead if she wanted to buy something to eat.

“Yes, I’m starving,” the blonde answered, before opening the plane’s limited menu. “What about you?”

“I was thinking about M&M’s. What? I’m on vacation!” the dark-haired beauty smiled.

“So, you’re on a little _‘Treat yo self’_ spring?” Clarke wiggled her eyebrows, while referring to the monumental show that was Parks and Recs. “I like the way you’re thinking, Vie. I’m craving some cheese. No, a _lot_ of cheese,” she flipped through the little booklet. “The ‘Extraordinaire Cheese Bagel’ is calling my name,” she decided after a moment.

Maya turned on her Nintendo 3DS and started playing a game she wanted to catch up on. Clarke, who’d wanted to sketch but couldn’t because of the lack of space (for obvious reasons), started listening to music while waiting for the food cart.

Ten minutes later there was still no sign of improvement in the weird fight she was having with the guy in front of her. Thankfully though, she was only one passenger away ( _him_ ) from her delicious bagel.

“Would you like anything, sir?” Clarke heard the stewardess ask the curly-haired guy, when she turned off her music.

“A coffee, please,” he answered.

Maya handed Clarke the wallet that the blonde had put in her friend’s purse, while the stewardess continued. “Would you like anything with it? The Caesar salad is only two dollars today. Or maybe an ‘Extraordinaire Cheese Bagel’? I only have one left.”

Clarke sucked in a breath. _Fuck_. No, he wouldn’t.

But, he did. “Really?” he asked, suddenly very interested in the food. “That bagel sounds delicious. Just my luck that there’s only _one_ left!”

_Son of a bitch!_

“Here you go, sir. Enjoy your bagel.”

The stewardess, a young brunette, took a step and turned to Clarke. Her smile turned into a look of confusion. “Everything all right here?” she asked, seemingly just noticing the awkward positioning of the seat between Clarke and her adversary. The blonde suspected the stewardess’s obliviousness probably had something to do with the guy’s face. Or his arms.

Raised by a mother in politics, Clarke had learned at a very young age how to lie convincingly. “Absolutely,” Clarke gritted her teeth and curled her lips in a smile. “A bag of peanut M&M’s and uh—the Caesar salad, please.”

She could hear the guy snort and for a second she contemplated dumping her food on his head once the stewardess had left, but she was too hungry. Clarke paid the money and gave Maya her chocolate. Her friend send her a sympathetic look.

“M&M?” she offered.

Clarke gave her a grateful smile. “Later, maybe.”

Half an hour later her shitty salad was gone and her legs were sore, so Clarke decided to use the bathroom. Standing up proved almost more effort than it was worth. Her boobs bumped against the top of the guy’s seat, and she needed to pull her legs over her own chair to get out. She was grateful she was at least sitting on the aisle and therefore didn’t have to step over other people as well.

With her bladder now empty, Clarke made her way back to her seat. She saw that the guy hadn’t even _touched_ the – her – bagel. It was just lying in his lap, still wrapped, while he was reading a book. She could _just_ read the title and it’s author. 

“You’re not going to eat it?” she blurted out.

He looked up at her, with a smirk, and then he shrugged. “Nope – I’m lactose intolerant.”

Clarke almost choked in her anger. “Well, then I guess it _sucks_ to be you – dairy products are the _best_!”

His response was a roll of the eyes.

Clarke wobbled as she tried to get back into her seat, when an idea hit her. The book he’d been reading was ‘Elephants Can Remember’ by Agatha Christie – one that was an all-time favourite of Clarke’s. She turned to Maya, who was already looking at her with shock over the guy’s behaviour. Maya’s shock turned into worry when she saw the blonde’s determination.

“I recently re-read ‘Elephants Can Remember’ by Agatha Christie,” Clarke started. “It really is one of my favourites. Do you know it, Maya?”

Maya let out a defeated sigh, apparently deciding to play along with the blonde’s game. “No, I don’t think I’ve read that one.”

“Well, it’s about this unsolved double murder of a husband and wife. A cold case from ten years prior. The lead protagonist, a detective named Poirot, investigates the murder with this celebrated crime novelist,” Clarke began. “They need to find out if it was a double suicide or a murder/suicide, and if the latter, who killed who. They left behind two children, you see.”

“How sad…”

“Yes,” Clarke continued in a whisper so she wouldn’t other passengers too much, but still loud enough so the asshole could hear her. “The story takes place in the 1910’s, so there’s barely any technology, and there weren’t any witnesses, so solving the case is really difficult. But, then Poirot interviews some people who remember a few details about the couple, and he pieces the puzzle together. There’s something special about the wife’s wig and dog, and she had a sister who was crazy, so he figures out that it was—“

“Enough!” the guy jumped out of his chair and turned to glare at Clarke. “Please shut the fuck up, lady. I’ll pull up my seat up, if you turn off the air vent and stop ruining my book. Deal?”

Clarke gave him a smug look, and ignored all of her fellow passengers who were enjoying the scene they were causing. “Oh, and if it’s not too much of a bother, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind giving me your bagel that you just realized you couldn’t eat, right?”

His scowl grew even darker, and so did hers. “Of course not,” he spit.

“Is there an issue here?” a thirty-something year old steward asked, who’d popped up out of nowhere.

“Not anymore,” Clarke said to the steward with a blinding smile. The curly haired stranger just huffed.

 

**

 

“That was the worst flight I’ve ever been on. And I’ve flown international!” Clarke exclaimed when they left the baggage claim.

“Well, you handled it very gracefully” Maya replied.

Clarke swallowed. “Shit, I’m sorry, Maya—“

Her friend chuckled. “Don’t apologise. It was hilarious. I wish I had the guts to stand up for myself like that.”

Clarke snorted and pecked her friend’s cheek. “You’re the best. I just hope we never have to see that fuckweasel again.”

 

**

 

It was barely _two hours_ before they saw that ‘fuckweasel’ again.

Clarke and Maya had agreed to meet up for lunch with Lincoln and his fiancé Octavia, whom they had yet to meet. Nevertheless, Clarke was certain she would recognise the woman after the hundreds of photos Lincoln had sent her of himself and his wife-to-be.

“They’re sitting outside, close to the entrance at one of the tables with an umbrella,” Clarke told Maya, after reading the text their friend had sent her.

“I’m certain the antics of that blonde menace will lead to me having pneumonia!” she heard a man with a deep voice saying. “She just turned on that air-conditioning full blast and then turned it on me!”

“Still great at making friends, I hear,” a chipper female voice replied, while Clarke looked around for Lincoln.

“Oh, shit,” Maya whispered, next to her.

“What?” Clarke asked confused.

“I found Lincoln,” her friend answered, before leading the way.

Clarke, still confused, wondered what had made a girl like _Maya_ curse, until she saw the reason herself. She, too, started cursing. “Fuck!” she said, shocked, when she found _t_ _hat_ _asshole_ sitting with Lincoln and a woman who she recognised as Octavia. “What are _you_ doing here?” she demanded.

“What the hell?” the guy said, just as shocked as Clarke was when his eyes landed on her.

“Clarke, Maya, you’re here,” the blonde could hear her friend’s excitement in his voice, but she was still busy glaring at her foe. Lincoln got out of his chair and gave Maya and her a hug, before introducing the woman and the man that were still seated. “This is my fiancé, Octavia, and her brother, Bellamy Blake.”

“We’ve met,” Bellamy spit.

“Really? How great. I hope you—“ Lincoln started, with a broad smile, but Bellamy turned to his sister and pointed at Clarke. “That’s the blonde menace!”

“Who are you calling a menace, dickface?” Clarke shot back.

“Let’s buy some drinks,” Maya interjected, always the peacemaker, voice as sweet as sugar. “I’d love to get to know you, Octavia.”

“Great idea,” Lincoln quickly agreed.

Octavia laughed. “One has a dumbass feud with my brother, and the other is offering me booze – I love your friends already, Linc.”

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke was now sure she was the punchline of a very bad cosmic joke. She was the ‘lucky’ bachelorette who’d caught Octavia’s wedding bouquet, and Bellamy, of course, was the man who’d caught Octavia’s garter that Lincoln had thrown. That meant that after Bellamy had placed the garter on Clarke’s leg, to the obnoxious catcalling of her so called friends, the two of them had to dance with one another for every one of the guests to see. It was horrible and humiliating.

“Ouch!” Clarke squealed, when Bellamy stepped on her toes for the third time. “Watch it, Big Foot,” she grumbled.

Blake rolled his eyes at her. “Sorry, _Princess_ ,” he said condescendingly, and they both glared at one another.

Clarke was sick and tired of this Bellamy Blake. Every interaction she’d had with him thus far had been difficult, annoying, and heated. “I hate you,” she whispered, angrily. “I hope that _every time_ you load an article, it’ll load that extra little bit as you're about to click a link so you click an _ad_ instead.”

Blake angrily sucked in a breath. “Yeah? Well, I hope your five year old neighbour will have their violin lessons during _all_ of your hangovers!”

“I wish you nothing but _raisins_ in all of your chocolate chip cookies, dick!” she threw back. “Forever.”

Bellamy’s jaw flexed and he narrowed his eyes at her. “May you _always_ step in a wet spot after putting on fresh socks.”

“Well, may you—“ she tilted her head, trying to think of something extraordinarily annoying she could wish on him. His lips immediately turned into a smug smile, thinking he had her beat. “May you always get up from your computer with your headphones still attached.”

“May _both_ sides of your pillow be warm.”

Clarke was suddenly very inspired. They went back and forth for a while.

“May your coffee be too hot when you receive it, and too cold by the time you remember it's there, _Princess_ ,” she could swear she saw an amused twinkle lighting up Bellamy’s chocolate brown eyes when he said it.

However, Clarke wasn’t going to let his attractiveness be her undoing – she was going to win, dammit. “May your cookie always be slightly too large to fit inside your glass of milk!” she glared.

“May all your Facebook invites be _game_ invites,” he shot back.

The song finally ended, which meant that the most torturous minutes of Clarke’s life were over. She quickly pulled her hands back like it hurt her to touch Bellamy, and looked him dead in the eye one last time. “May your life be as pleasant as _you_ are,” she spit, added a fake smile, and turned around to make a beeline for the free bar.

 

**

 

“You two made a lovely pair,” Lincoln commented when he came to stand next to Clarke. He asked the bartender for a water, before turning back to his friend. “But, only if you ignored the looks on your faces.”

Clarke snorted. “I bet.”

“You know, first impressions aside, he’s actually not _that_ bad,” Lincoln smiled.

Clarke made a face.

“He pretty much raised Octavia, you know. And he’s a curator at a history museum – you love museums, right?” Lincoln continued. “Maybe you should give Bellamy a chance. This probably won’t be the last you’ll see of him – since he’s now my brother-in-law and all.”

Remembering that Lincoln had just gotten _married_ , made Clarke smile a warm and proud smile. “I’m really happy for you, Evergreen. The ceremony was so lovely. However, where Bellamy Blake is concerned—“ she added and gave him an unimpressed look. “Maybe when pigs fly.”

Lincoln simultaneously laughed and rolled his eyes at her, before wrapping his arms around the stubborn blonde.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

“And that, dear Abigail, is how I met your grandfather,” Clarke finished, smiling at her 10 year old granddaughter.

“ _Wow_ ,” Abigail mouthed. “I thought that when you said you met grandpa at a _wedding_ it would be a _romantic_ story.”

Clarke chuckled. “Sorry about that, honey,” she drank some of her tea. “But, I promise you it was _very_ romantic after that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure that when Clarke told her granddaughter the story, she left out all of the swearing ;) 
> 
> Thoughts? Feelings? :) xx


End file.
